Beds
by Write-To-You
Summary: Four times Eliot gave up his bed for one of his teammates, and one time they gave up a bed for him.


I. Sophie

Eliot knew his team knew where he lived.

Still, he wasn't at all expecting Sophie to be standing at his door at just past midnight. She was a mess; more of a mess than Eliot had ever seen her before. Mascara was running down her cheeks, her hair was in a messy bun, and she was wearing...

_Sweatpants_.

"Come inside," Eliot muttered, dragging Sophie in as she let out the third sob since he'd opened the door. "What the heck happened, Sophie? Who do I need to kill?!"

"_Nate_," Sophie bawled, throwing herself onto his couch.

Eliot pulled up short. That response didn't exactly surprise him, but it threw him for a bit of a loop. Nate was half Eliot's father figure and half his boss and half (yeah too many halves, whatever) his friend. But if he'd hurt Sophie then, well.

"What did he do?" Eliot asked seriously, sitting down on the coffee table in front of her and putting a hand on her knee. "Did he hurt you?"

"He didn't _do_ anything," Sophie wailed. "That's just the problem! Eliot, I turn 31 today."

Eliot blinked, unsure how that fact played into the rest of this situation. "Uh... happy birthday."

She glared at him. "It is _not_ a happy birthday, Eliot! I'm turning _thirty-one_. That makes it almost ten years since Nate and I met."

Eliot mouth twitched a little. "Congratulations...?"

It seemed that was not the right thing to say. Sophie let out another wail and curled into a ball. "You don't _get_ it," she sobbed. "We have been dancing around each other for _years_, Eliot. It's exhausting! He never does _anything_ about it, even though it's obvious that we both like each other. And if it's obvious and he won't make a move, why is anything going to change moving forward? I'm getting _old_. I can't keep on like this!"

Eliot cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on the coffee table. Then suddenly, "Dang it, Sophie! What do you want me to say? I'm not good with all this- this _relationship_ stuff. In my world, if you like a girl you bring her back to your room and then that's it, you never see her again. Why did you come here?"

"Well, who else was I supposed to go to?" Sophie asked manically, lifting her tearstained face and giving him a pitiful expression. "Parker has absolutely _no _experience with men, Hardison would just clear his throat a lot and say to _talk to Nate about my feelings_, and-"

"Fine, I get why you wouldn't go to anyone else," Eliot cut her off. "But why would you come to _me_?"

"Because- because-" Sophie waved her hands in the air. "Because I needed to go _somewhere_! And you seemed like some who would just sit and listen to me cry."

For whatever reason, Eliot took slight offense to this. "What? Because you think I'm not gonna do anythin' about it?"

"No!" Sophie cried. "But you wouldn't get all- all _weird_. Parker and Hardison would get weird."

"Gotcha." Eliot sat back, shaking his head. "Well, if you're sure you don't want me to kill Nate then, uh... cry away, I guess."

Sophie pulled a face. "I'm pretty much done, now," she said, almost petulantly. Then she let out a yawn, resting her head against the side of the couch and looking over at Eliot with beaten, glazed eyes.

"Come on," Eliot sighed, grabbing her arm and helping her up. He lead her down the hallway and nudged open a door with his foot. "Just stay in here for tonight, okay?"

"I couldn't intrude-"

"Sophie." Eliot looked at her firmly, standing just outside his bedroom. "You're exhausted, and my guess is you don't want to be alone. Just spend the night here. I barely sleep, anyway."

Sophie nodded, suddenly getting a little teary again. Eliot shuffled uncomfortably and calculated how many steps it would be to get him to his door and out from crying-woman proximity. "Thank you, Eliot," Sophie said seriously, lip wobbling as she nodded at him. "I really appreciate it."

Eliot almost said 'anytime', but stopped himself. "Uh... no problem," he muttered, shutting the door as Sophie turned away.

Then he wandered back to the couch to see what was on television. It was going to be a long night.

II. Parker

When Eliot got home after a particularly long job on Saturday, he found Parker sitting primly on his couch. He gritted his teeth, wanting nothing more than to get some Advil and ice the various bruises he had sustained that day. "Parker, what are you doing here?"

"What're you doing here?" Parker shot back, crossing her arms defensively at his tone.

"What am I- this is my _house_, Parker!" Eliot cried, slamming the door behind him and huffing into the kitchen.

"Oh, right." Parker snorted a little, and then stretched herself out, staring up at the ceiling. She fell silent, and, as Eliot bustled about in the kitchen for a few minutes, he almost forgot she was there.

And then he remembered, and the nagging question of _what she was doing there_ came on back. Sighing, Eliot walked over to the couch. "You alright?" he asked casually, eyeing Parker out of the corner of his eye.

It hadn't exactly been an easy con that day. Hardison had gotten kidnapped, and Parker had ended up stuck in the vent right above him. She hadn't been able to open up the hatch and rescue him, and had been forced to stay where she was and watch Hardison get pummeled for over an hour.

Parker cleared her throat and lifted her head, staring dully over at Eliot. "Why do you ask...?" she questioned suspiciously.

Eliot growled softly under his breath. "Because, last time I checked, you don't just show up here and crash on my couch on a Saturday night! Or any night!"

Parker wrinkled her nose and her head fell back onto the couch cushion. "I was really scared today, Eliot," she whispered, her foot waving back and forth at the ankle.

Eliot swallowed. "I know," he sighed, leaning back and pushing his hands through his hair. "I was... I was, too. It's not... _easy_ to see your teammate hurtin' like that."

Parker nodded her agreement, twisting her hands in her lap. "Is that how you feel?" she whispered. "All the time? When we get hurt and you can't do anything to help?"

"Yeah," Eliot muttered. "Yeah, something like that." He paused, looking over at her. This time, when he asked the question from earlier, his tone was gentle, "Why're you here, Parker?"

Parker sat up and stared over at him, her eyes very wide and round. "I couldn't sleep," she whispered. "I went home to my warehouse and I could sleep, so I went and checked on Alec and he _was_ sleeping and I didn't want to wake him. So I came here."

She tucked her chin into her knees and curled into a ball a small enough size that only Parker could manage. Eliot let out a sigh and moved over to the couch, putting his arm around her shoulders. Parker didn't have many tells when she was upset, but big round eyes and curling into balls was one of them. Calling Hardison by his first name? Another one.

Eliot rubbed his hand up and down Parker's arm, feeling her heartbeat settle against his side. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck, and it wasn't long before Eliot realized she had fallen asleep.

A sudden surge of protectiveness charged through Eliot. He tucked his arms underneath Parker's knees and neck and stood up with her snug against his chest. He knew that she probably wasn't still asleep, but she did a good job pretending, head lolling against his shoulder and a dead weight in his arms.

Or maybe she _was_ really sleeping, which was a compliment Eliot wasn't sure he deserved.

Either way, Eliot brought Parker into his bedroom and shifted her weight to one arm so he could push the blankets back. He laid her down, maneuvering her legs under the covers and the pillow so she wouldn't wake up with a sore neck. For a moment, Eliot considered laying down next to her, purely for comfort and to make sure he was there in case she had any nightmares or something.

But Hardison would kill him if he knew the hitter had been in bed with his girl, for no matter what the reason. So Eliot just tucked the covers under Parker's chin and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before heading back out of the room.

He'd make pancakes. Parker loved pancakes more than any other breakfast food, even lucky charms, especially when they were more chocolate than actual pancake. It was rare that Eliot indulged her in her food-wishes, but tomorrow morning, he would.

He couldn't do much for Parker. But the bed, and the food? He could do that.

III. Nate

When Nate showed up with a bottle of some very strong alcohol in his hand, Eliot just decided not to question.

"I need a drink," Nate mumbled, stumbling towards Eliot's kitchen counter and setting the bottle on the table so hard that Eliot thought it might crack.

"Seems like you've already had a few," Eliot mentioned, raising his eyebrows.

"I came here," Nate said, glaring at him. "Because I knew that anyone else? They'd try and stop me. But you would just sit and drink with me. Am I wrong?"

Something squeezed in Eliot's chest. If that was the case, what kind of a friend -a _teammate_\- did that make him to Nate? Still, Eliot walked to his fridge and grabbed a bottle of his own. Nate could drink whatever he wanted, but he was having a beer.

Eliot sat down on the couch and turned on a pre-recorded hockey game. After a moment, Nate joined him, and they sat for awhile in silence, drinking.

"My son died today," Nate said suddenly, his voice about three times more slurred than it was when he walked in.

Eliot muted the television but didn't look away from the screen.

"Well, not _today_, today," Nate corrected himself, taking another long swig from his bottle. "Today... five years ago. You'd think it'd get easier... after five years. But it doesn't."

"No, it doesn't," Eliot agreed softly. He twisted the bottle of beer in his hands, just remembering to go easy on it so he didn't shatter the neck. He'd done that before more times than he could count, and it was not a pleasant experience.

Nate swallowed another mouthful of drink and out of the corner of his eye Eliot can see his eyelids drooping. He was getting close to his limit.

"Come on, man," Eliot muttered, grasping Nate's arm and helping him up. "You can crash here tonight."

Nate may have mumbled a thank you, but his chin was tucked into his chest and he was focusing more on not tripping over his own feet. Eliot brought him into his bedroom and dumped him carefully on the bed, before turning and walking out again.

Nate would have one heck of a hangover tomorrow, and Eliot wasn't planning on being around when he woke up. He knew how embarrassed the other man got when his drinking forced him to rely on others. Eliot didn't mind the reliance, just the fact that it came from Nate's inability to stay sober.

Maybe he should start putting his foot down more about Nate's drinking. But tonight, the damage was already done, and Eliot settled in to finish his hockey game.

IV. Hardison

In all honesty, Eliot wasn't expecting Hardison.

He should have, by now. Everyone in his team had come to him at some point or another in differing levels of distress, but Hardison never had. Eliot knew they were close. Hardison was like a brother to him. But when it came to emotional stuff, Hardison went to Parker. Or no one at all.

So, when there was a knock on the door and Eliot opened it to find Hardison on the other side, he was honestly surprised.

But then he wasn't, because Hardison gulped and moved his hand away from his stomach and Eliot saw it was covered in blood.

His gaze darkened and he pulled Hardison inside. "What happened?" Eliot demanded, glaring at Hardison but more out of fear than anger. "Dang it Hardison, _what happened_?!"

Hardison stumbled to the couch and sat down with a groan. "Guy in an alley, stupid as it sounds," he huffed. "Had a knife. Wasn't sure where else to go."

"Take off your shirt," Eliot ordered, his face daring Hardison to make some wise-crack remark. Hardison gulped again and carefully pulled the shirt over his head, hissing when the fabric pulled away from his skin.

Eliot grabbed the first aid kit from a drawer in the hallway and a damp towel from the kitchen and then moved closer to inspect the wound. "Doesn't seem too bad," he muttered, trying to wipe the blood away from the laceration.

"Not too- not too bad?!" Hardison yelped, shying away from Eliot's hands. "Man, I got stabbed! _Stabbed_! I need my stomach! So unless you're planning on donating one to me, yeah, it's _pretty bad_."

"Dang it, Hardison, it didn't even hit your stomach!" Eliot growled, grabbing his arm to keep him from getting up. "It's gonna need stitches, but I can give you some pain killers and we can numb the area and just do it all here."

"Do it- do it all _here_?" Hardison repeated incredulously. "Are you insane? I'm not getting stitches on your couch!"

Eliot threw up his hands. "Fine, then!" he yelled. "_Why did you come_?! If you don't want my help, why are you even here?!"

"Man, I dunno!" Hardison cried. "I thought you'd know what to do!"

"I do know what to do!" Eliot yelled. "You need stitches, and I'm gonna give them to you!"

Hardison groaned and got to his feet. A second later his face was draining of color and he was tipping. Eliot grabbed his arms and eased him back onto the couch. "You good, man?" he confirmed, voice lowering back to a normal volume again. They were like this, him and Hardison. They went from yelling at each other to doing their special handshake almost once a day.

"Yeah, yeah," Hardison wheezed, his hands fisting as he pushed himself up the back of the couch a little. "Just... just fix me, okay, man? Stitch me up right here. I'm just... just gonna..."

His eyelids fluttered and before Eliot knew it he had slumped sideways, unconscious. Eliot let out a sigh and positioned him in a vertical position the couch. He would have to work fast, because there was no _way_ Hardison was going to let him stitch him up if he was awake, no matter what he'd just said.

Hardison still hadn't come to almost an hour later, once Eliot had put away his supplies and cleaned the rest of the blood from his stomach. His couch might be a lost cause, but there were a few home remedies he could try to get the blood out.

Finally, Eliot stood over Hardison and watched the hacker breath, the new stitches in his stomach glaringly obvious in his dark skin. Rolling his eyes at the thought of what Hardison would be saying if he was awake, Eliot awkwardly picked him up and lugged him to his bedroom. Hardison was surprisingly heavy, though Eliot wasn't feeling much fat on him. Eliot really didn't see how he had a chance to work out given how much time he spent on the computer, but maybe Hardison had an exercise life that no one knew about.

Once Hardison was sprawled on the bed, Eliot threw a few extra blankets on him and went to turn up the heat. The blood loss would make Hardison cold, and Eliot could stand to remove a few layers himself.

Then, Eliot went to see what he could do about that blood on his couch.

+I. Eliot

Everything was hazy from the concussion, but at least it was drowning out the pain of Eliot's broken ribs.

He was currently sitting as still as possible in a chair in the hotel lobby. Eliot, along with the rest of his crew, were stuck in a tiny town for the night after a long job; a town that only had one itty-bitty hotel. And that hotel happened to have only one itty-bitty room available.

And one bed.

Sighing, Eliot tried not to let any of his emotions show on his face as Nate claimed the room with a desperate shrug and the five of them tromped upstairs. What he needed right now was a cold bath to reduce swelling and a good nights rest. But he could see the toll the job had taken on everyone, and he knew that there was no way he was asking for that bed tonight.

As soon as they got into the room, Eliot shut himself into the bathroom to do some damage control. Sophie, Nate, Parker and Hardison fell into a square position, and Sophie spoke first. "So, Eliot takes the bed."

Her tone suggested that they had discussed it before that moment, but no one argued. "I can sleep on the dresser," Parker supplied with a smirk.

"I've spent enough nights in a chair," Hardison put in with a shrug.

Sophie and Nate looked at each other. Hardison rolled his eyes. "Just share the couch, you two. It's not _so_ out there."

Both of them turned red and hurriedly walked in different directions to prepare for the night. Parker and Hardison just exchanged eye rolls and started their own bedtime routines.

When Eliot got out of the bathroom, he found the rest of his team sprawled in different places across the room. "So, didja fight to the death over the bed and I missed it?" he asked, voice rumbling in his chest.

"Yeah," Hardison spoke up from where he was folded in the office chair, smiling over at him. "And you won."

"I..." Eliot stared at him blankly.

"Hardison, that didn't even make sense," Nate called from the tiny living room area, where he and Sophie where sitting stiffly on opposite ends of the couch, not touching. "Eliot, take the bed. I'm fairly certain that we've all stolen yours at some point or another, so it's the least we can do."

Eliot smirked faintly. "You guys really-"

"Take the bed, Eliot," Sophie told him firmly. "Before Parker changes her mind about sleeping on top of a dresser."

"We can cuddle," Eliot told Parker with a wink as he slowly laid down.

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen," Hardison said firmly, glaring.

"I like the dresser," Parker announced, curling up on her side with one of the couch pillows underneath her head. "Goodnight, everyone."

It was a credit to her trust in all of them that she was able to drop off as quickly as she did. Hardison was asleep in a similarly fast way, but Eliot laid awake for a moment, listening to his team breathe.

For once in his life, good deeds he had done _were_ going unpunished. It seemed that it was his turn to finally get the bed.

**Author's Note: Annnnd that's a wrap! That was fun, though of course the Parker/Eliot and Hardison/Eliot ones were the most fun :))))**


End file.
